When you wish upon a star
by Oldmovie
Summary: When you wish upon a star all of your dreams will come true, or will they? For the characters of House, Cuddy and Wilson that doesn't always seem to be the case. A little bit of angst,comfort/friendship and a little bit of good old Huddy shipping :


**_When you wish upon a star_**

**_Makes no difference who you are_**

**_Anything your heart desires_**

**_Will come to you_**

Cuddy sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes closed tight as salty tears pushed their way past the barriers of her eyelids to roll slowly and painfully across her blotched face. Her cheeks were red with transparent lines etched across her features that stained the natural beauty that lay there. She was physically aching, her brain shutting down all other feelings and focusing on the sole pain that was her worst. She had already thrown away the pregnancy test, but the gut wrenching feeling of failure asserted itself in her thoughts and refused to be ignored. 3 separate implantations, three separate failures. Cuddy knew there was no point continuing, the 3rd time lucky chance had passed her by and she knew no amount of self delusion could get her through the inevitable failure of the next attempt.

No self delusions could disguise the hope she had felt under House's watchful eye either. She had warned herself not to listen to him, but she knew that eye, those eyes rather and the powers of perception that were the tagline of House's career. She could physically feel the hope growing in her, from the shivering jolts of unexpected adrenaline, to the uneasy feeling in her stomach that she had to scold herself for thinking was anything other than stomach acids mixing together. Her resistance was failing with each "You're pregnant" and when her period didn't come on the expected date, Cuddy finally let herself believe that maybe this was it.

Finally deciding to move, she slowly laid down on the bed, so that she was on her back and her front was facing the ceiling fan. A fresh sob erupted from the vaults of her heart. Trying to muffle the sound of her own tears she turned onto her side and scooted up the bed until she was in the fetal position with her head on the pillow. The coolness of the pillow fabric was welcome to her burning cheeks and she finally was able to regulate her breathing and once more assume control over the broken damn of her tear ducts. In a masochistic fashion, Cuddy allowed the stray arm that was hugging her side to come across her body and soothingly stroke the flat, taut stomach that seemed so barren and empty. Broken dreams must have the density of air. With eyes glazed over Cuddy stared out of her window. She saw the creeping frost around the edges of the pane, hinting to the winter that would soon come and force her to pull out ear-muffs and woolen scarves. She sighed, nothing had changed. She let her eyes relax, her mind already drifting onto hospital matters like which company to hire to shuffle snow, and the expected costs of the influx of patients with runny noses or the flu. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the impending winter that she didn't notice a faint glowing that was located amongst the black just above the frost.

House silently turned off the engine of his motorcycle which also turned out the headlights and sat very still in the darkness. He was buying time for himself to think and fully comprehend why he was here. The clamminess from the heat inside his helmet was making the job of psycho-analyzing himself very difficult and so with cautious procession, the scar on his neck from a well placed bullet still tender, House removed the helmet from his head. The cold breeze of New Jersey suburbia swept across his face and certainly gave him the jolt of realization that he needed. He blinked and then cocking an amused grin at himself he lowered his head. Why would Cuddy care if a brother and sister, albeit half siblings, were spouses? He shook his head at himself, wondering why he had sought out her company. Not really daring to push further with his thoughts, House was about to put his helmet back on when he noticed that the sparsely lit house he had pulled up to was suddenly a-glow and a figure defined by the light from a half opened door was standing on the porch outside.

"House?" the figure asked guardedly.

"Hey," he muttered feebly, caught off guard by Cuddy's sudden appearance.

Cuddy cocked her head in confusion, "Why are you here?"

House couldn't see her face very well because of the blinding light of her doorway, but he could tell by the rasping quality of her voice that she had been crying.

"The phrase peeping Tom comes to mind," House answered, the snark coming back with the return of self assurance.

"I thought peeping Toms used windows, they don't brood over their motorcycles," Cuddy paused unsure, "What happened with your patient?"

"Hereditary Angioedema." House replied.

"That's genetic how-" Cuddy was asking when House cut her off.

"Turns out that the happy couple is actually the incestuous couple."

Cuddy made a noise that sounded like a choked gasp and then there was an awkward silence, both uncertain of what to do next. House narrowed his eyes, attempting to get a better view of Cuddy but the damn light was blocking any vision he could have of her face.

He wondered if she had realized he knew she had been crying. But before he was able to probe her for information she got there first.

"Why are you here House, surely two siblings shacking up doesn't render a visit to my house necessary."

"Got me thinking about sex." House replied.

"You were turned on by sibling sex, what type of home did you grow up in?"

"A home where Deans of Medicine didn't wear provocatively low shirts to make one think about sex."

Cuddy sighed annoyed, "I'm wearing pajamas."

"And next you're going to complain that it's cold outside," House said looking on purpose at her chest. Cuddy responded by folding her arms over her chest.

"Go away."

"That's it? Best you could come up with was go away?"

"Childish response for a child."

"If only Chamberlain had told that to Hitler then we might not-" House was saying when Cuddy cut him off.

"Is there a reason you're engaging me in mindless babble at 2am in the morning, or is there something on your mind House?"

"Something on _your_ mind Cuddy?" House saw his opening and deflected the question.

Cuddy shifted uncomfortably but House couldn't read her face and another awkward silence pertained. Realizing that Cuddy had no intentions of revealing to him what was wrong House decided to leave.

"Well great talk," House announced sarcastically reaching for his helmet, "Remind me to call you when Wilson's busy."

"Why are you here?" She repeated.

House sat there uncomfortable and not in the mood to partake in a deep conversation began to bring his helmet up to his head.

"I lost it," Cuddy's words were so quiet House almost missed them amidst the shuffling of his leather coat while he was placing the helmet over his head. He paused and forced his eyes to meet hers. He brought the helmet back down and licked his lips nervously, cursing himself for even being there for this.

"I whacked my head today against the medicine cabinet."

Cuddy shuffled annoyed, obviously not pleased with the reply she received. "What does that have to do with-"House cut her off, determined to make his point known.

"Both are painful, but irrelevant information."

Silence.

"Neither one changes anything," House finished.

Even if he couldn't see her glare, he could feel the hurt he had caused her practically emitting off of her body and posture just like the light that surrounded her.

"That's the problem," Cuddy finally replied.

House stared at her with his jaw set in an unwavering fashion but he couldn't hide the empathy in his eyes. The blues shimmered brilliantly but before Cuddy could mention them House had his helmet on his head and had started up the engine. She swallowed, holding back some tears that threatened to escape and firmly kept her arms locked over her abdomen. The motorcycle pulled out of her drive-way, the light from the head-lights dragging behind like a straggler. Without saying goodbye, and without any acknowledgement House drove away from her house, but Cuddy's eyes followed the light from his bike up the hill of her street and farther away from her. When the bike got too far away all that could be seen was a faint shimmering, high up the hill, penetrating the dark night sky. It would only be later that the shimmering would turn into red and blue flashing lights.

**_If your heart is in your dream_**

**_No request is too extreme_**

**_When you wish upon a star_**

**_As dreamers do_**

House heard the knock on the door but ignored it, he far preferred the company of his whiskey and Vicodin to either owner that the knock had to belong to. The knocking insisted on penetrating his thoughts, but luckily for House, he had mastered the art of alienation to the point where he could block out the adamant thumping of determination. Suddenly all sound ceased.

"House, please."

The two words cut through him, the desperation behind them and the faint murmur quality disturbed House so much that his newly mangled thigh throbbed in response. House hated that word, and especially coming from her lips. It wasn't right, wasn't natural. But he didn't want to talk to her; he didn't want to talk to anyone. If he could ignore Wilson, he certainly could ignore Cuddy. He lifted that thigh off of the floor, careful to not pinch any muscles he was not yet aware were hurt and extended it slowly, painfully so that it rested next to his healthy thigh on the sofa.

"I know you're in there, I'm not here to talk," she paused, obviously mulling over the coldness of her words, "Your medication needs a top-up."

House pondered the truth of those words. He had known Cuddy for 15 years now, albeit with gaps, and he knew when she was lying. She and Wilson had persistently been bothering him about attending his physical therapy classes, or going to actual therapy, it was a team effort to get project House up and running again. He weighed up the options of opening the door for her. She would want to talk about everything once he opened that door and he didn't like talking to Cuddy, that guilt complex she had always seemed to accost his own conscience. That wasn't the only negative about answering the door. Just getting up from this sofa was going to inflict enough self pain that members of Opus Dei would be impressed. But Vicodin! House eyed the nearly empty Vicodin container that lay menacingly on its side on his coffee table and figured that a few excruciating steps to the door would save him a week of agonizing in the burning sensation of his personal hell. He replaced his bad leg unhurriedly onto the wooden floor, wary of the impact hard surfaces had on his muscles. He had to measure everything now, had to take everything into account. Even the simple process of going to the bathroom was a difficult decision of standing up as opposed to trying to get up from the seat. He made his way to the door, pausing twice to catch his breath as the pain ricocheted off of the very fibers of his muscles causing a dizzy consciousness and jagged breathing.

"You can't lock yourself up in here forever, people care, people-" Cuddy was saying when suddenly the door was opened and a haggard looking man stepped out of the darkness. House's signature stubble now had definite kinship to the beard family, his blood shot eyes and baggy clothing reminded Cuddy of the homeless people she would see on street corners.

"You need to refresh your semantics Cuddy; I CAN do anything I want."

Cuddy bit back the brutal response of, no you can't, and instead took a deep breath. She wasn't going to mess this up, but before she could say anything House thrust a hand out in an aggressive manner.

"Pills please."

Cuddy stared into the fierce blues, steadied her shoulders and prepared for a fight.

"Pills have a price."

"Didn't realize drug dealer was something you could put on your resume for Dean of Medicine," House spat out the last words with particular vehemence. Cuddy winced at the harsh accusation, she had been appointed a month ago as the new Dean, and House saw this as a particular betrayal. She was rising as he was falling.

"You haven't talked to anyone since Sta-"she wasn't allowed to finish the sentence

"Pills," House demanded cutting her off, not in the slightest mood to discuss this further.

"Not without a talk," Cuddy's mission finally made known.

House stared at her, for a second he considered slapping her across the face but restrained himself. What gave her the right to dictate his actions?

"I thought your goal was to keep me alive?"

"Talking to me isn't going to kill you House."

"No but a week without those pills might."

They stared at each other, a battle between determined minds, between stubborn blues. Seeing that neither of them was going to back down, House decided to end this and began to shut the door. Cuddy thrust her arm in the way; an aggressive stare was plastered across her face.

"This conversation isn't over House."

"Yes it is," he tried to close the door again but either Cuddy was much stronger than he anticipated, or the strenuous task of standing up was draining his energy. House winced slightly as the momentarily forgotten pain returned with a vengeance. Cuddy's face immediately softened.

"Talk to me."

The no that came out of House's lips was so quiet that Cuddy had almost missed it. She heard the faint whisper, the despondent pleading. Feeling the familiar worry lines tugging on her skin, Cuddy stood back and allowed House to shut the door. She bowed her head defeated and bent down to slip his pills beneath the door. She swallowed with difficulty and stood back up. The lengthy thumping of House returning into his retreat forced her to accept the reality of their situation. She exited his building and looked up to the sky to see a faint shimmering; she could only hope House would recognize he wasn't alone, that they weren't going to leave him.

**_Fate is kind_**

**_She brings to those to love_**

**_The sweet fulfillment of_**

**_Their secret longing_**

House awoke slowly, his mind groggy as he was fighting off the lasting effects of the Ketamine coma. His vision was out of focus and all he could see was blurred fluorescent light. He blinked slowly and suddenly the steady beeping of his hospital monitor seemed to tune in like a radio. He was awake, he turned his head slightly and felt the jab of sharp pain in his neck, though the bullet was out, the injury was still fresh and House attempted to use it to judge how long he'd had been out. As he was feeling his stubble and becoming familiar with his surroundings the familiar clack of dangerously high heels shoes and the soft pad of leather on the floor diverted his attention away from his beard and upon his arriving visitors.

"Sleeping beauty awoke," Wilson commented obviously pleased and looked at Cuddy who had a slightly more worried look on her face.

"Which one of you kissed me?" House was able to reply.

"I can see you're feeling fine, no vision problems, breathing issues, no-" Cuddy came closer, bringing out her torch to examine House's eyes. He swatted her away.

"I'm fine, just a little groggy."

"That does come after being in a coma for a few days," Wilson replied, taking up House's chart at the bottom of the bed.

"How long was I out for?"

"2 days," Cuddy replied. House couldn't quite make out her tone of voice, it sounded tired but at the same time a little hopeful. "What made you think about Ketamine?"

"Actually you told me about it," House responded and Cuddy gave him a worrying stare. "Don't worry it was just a hallucination," Wilson looked up concerned from the file, "BEFORE the Ketamine."

Cuddy and Wilson exchanged an uneasy glance, "You hallucinated after you were shot? You might have PTSD; we need to run some tests, check out-" Wilson started babbling a little and Cuddy cut him off.

"Do you feel better?" She asked simply.

"I don't know, you two Drs. McSteamy," House pointed at Cuddy, "And Mcdreamy ambushed me the moment I woke up."

"We were worried," Wilson replied, "Do you feel anything?"

"Define anything," House asked just to be difficult.

Wilson sighed, "Does your leg hurt?"

House stared at Wilson for a minute not really taking in what he had said. House turned his face to Cuddy who was now sitting on the bed next to him. Her brow was furrowed and the worry lines he had created over the years were standing out visibly against her pale skin. House rubbed his thigh, the same familiar feel, the rough jaggedness of the scar but the pain wasn't seeping out of it. In fact there was only a dull ache, one that felt like a sore muscle after not exercising it in a while.

"Not really," House muttered quietly. Wilson stared at him intently studying his reactions and Cuddy let out a sigh of relief.

"You know this only has a 50% chance of working don't you?" Cuddy reminded him, not wanting House to build up false hope only to have it pulled from underneath him.

"Which also means there's a 50% chance it will work," Wilson stated. He appreciated Cuddy's protection, but House didn't need any more self denial than he was already going to deal with. The last thing they needed was a healed House who refused to believe he was healed.

House raised an eyebrow amused at the two silently bickering with intense stares. He nudged Cuddy's arm, indicating that he wanted her to move off of the bed so that he could sit up.

"House," Wilson sighed exasperated as he noticed House pushing back the blankets and attempting to get up, "You've been in a coma, you need to rest, lie down."

"Seems I've done enough of that lately," House replied instinctively grabbing for his cane. Once the fleshy wood was secured in his fingers he paused and drew his attention to it. He swiveled it back in forth, using his finger dexterity to maneuver the inanimate object which had allowed him to maneuver for so many years. He let it fall gently out of his grasp so that it rested on the bedside again and attempted to push himself out of the bed on his own.

"You need physical therapy, you need to start small," Cuddy was saying as she put an arm out to help support him if he needed her.

"If I started small I would have tapped Cameron years ago." He refused Cuddy's support and all she and Wilson could do was watch House push himself out of the bed. He stood up on two feet, amazed that there was no sudden rush of throbbing, no doubling over, no collapsing as the weight of more than just his body came crashing to the ground.

Cuddy smiled and her eyes shimmered with tears that she could barely restrain, Wilson grinned like a fool. Maybe this would be the start of something new.

**_Like a bolt out of the blue_**

**_Fate steps in and sees you through_**

**_When you wish upon a star_**

**_Your dreams come true_**

"What do you care if I take a class about Disney, write a few papers and get an 'A'? Aren't you a firm believer in doing as little work as possible?" Cuddy asked while re-positioning her backpack so it hung over one shoulder.

"I guess I should have guessed that partypants would be into boners on priests during weddings," House replied, chucking a handful of M&Ms into his mouth from the open packet in his other hand.

Cuddy sighed while gathering up the remaining books on the lunch table, "Only you would find profanity in a children's movie."

House waited patiently for Cuddy to finish and walked along beside her as she made her way to her next class, "Come on, you've never looked?"

"Some people aren't perverts."

Cuddy tossed him a careless smile that House immediately knew how to extinguish.

"You're going to fail that class if you refuse to look at the double meanings behind things."

Cuddy's brow furrowed instantly and House grinned smugly, "Right, I'm going to fail because I refuse to find a boner in 'The Little Mermaid'."

"If you refuse to acknowledge that Mr. Walt Disney was just as screwed up as the rest of us then you'll never pass." They turned a corner and made their way through throngs of students that were standing in line outside of the student union.

"Why is it so bad that I just want to watch a movie, appreciate the good morals behind it and not look for all the weird crap?" Cuddy asked, making sure to wait for House who had been lost in the sea of "Ann Arbor" sweater for a bit. Once House emerged unscathed they continued their discussion.

"Yeah, because Disney had such great morals."

"Be a good person, succeed in life, and fall in love, sounds horrible."

"How about, racism is a good thing, girls are no good without their men and when you wish upon a star all of your dreams will come true."

"What's wrong with the last one?"

"It's a lie."

Cuddy laughed out loud at this statement which caused House to stop in his tracks and stare intently at her. "Why's that funny?"

"You're such a cynic!" She was still smiling.

"Funny not being explained," House pointed out annoyed by her smile.

"You've never wished upon a star?" Cuddy asked her smile diminishing slightly as she noticed House's sudden bad humor.

"Nope, but I can tell you have," House continued to walk, he could see her psychology building ahead of them and wanted to drop her off before he missed the beginning of General Hospital.

"Never had any hopes or dreams?" Cuddy's face was changing from amusement to sympathy.

"Nope."

"Nothing?" Cuddy asked very cautiously, empathy plastered across her face.

"Do I really have to say it again?" House asked and suddenly noticed the sudden twinkle in Cuddy's eye.

"Come around my dorm room tonight at 9, I have to watch Beauty and the Beast and I thought you'd find the parallels between us funny." Cuddy looked up and noticed they had arrived at her destination; she flashed House a flirtatious smile and made her way up the shimmering white marble steps.

House narrowed his eyes on the girl making her way up the stairs and smiled suddenly, "Only if I'm getting laid!" He called out.

Cuddy paused mid-step and turned around with a smirk that could rival House's, "Maybe you should wish upon a star?"

**Thank you very much for reading!!!**


End file.
